Where: Godric's Hollow
When: A few days after Christmas (I meant to get this started ages ago, but school ate me. :| )
What: Black sheep have to stick together.
Sirius picked at the lint in his pockets with cold fingers as he walked, breathing warm breath into the woolen scarf he’d wrapped halfway up his face to keep his nose from freezing off. He wanted a cig but realized halfway to the Rook that they were still sitting on Prongs’s bed, next to the pile of letters from Andy and a very tired, very annoyed Bludger (who’d unfortunately been around to deliver mail, unlike Sirius’s own owl, Prosperina, who was still out hunting voles).
The Potters must’ve thought him mad, the way he was always dashing about; but really, if it had taken them that long to figure things out, there would be no helping them. He’d told James where he was going, of course, but Prongs had opted to stay behind this time, to let Sirius get things sorted.
He hoped Andy was okay. He knew things weren’t that simple – they never were, not ever – but he knew how much she liked Ted, and how much she hadn’t wanted to go home, and so on, and Sirius also knew that everything was building to a head. The breaking point was soon coming, he could feel it, and he wanted Andy to know he would be there for her when it did.
The town square was quiet with snow, and empty, but for a few people milling about here and there. With a glance inside the Rook’s frosty window, Sirius then settled onto the curb in front, notching the heels of his boots in the spaces between cobblestones, and waited.